


Hit the Window

by EmeraldHeiress



Series: Ad Aglaophotis [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Caretaking, Catatonic Jason Todd, Don't copy to another site, Explicit Language, Female Jason Todd, Fluff, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Omega Jason Todd, Sibling Bonding, Unreliable Narrator, physical health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 01:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20417738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldHeiress/pseuds/EmeraldHeiress
Summary: “Todd!” He barked again, eyeing the scarily still pile of fabric. There was no response. He stepped closer and whined, pitched to draw the attention of caregivers. There was a twitch from the pile but no further movement. This was bad. For an omega to ignore the call of a pup in need...





	Hit the Window

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place before "Suspending Gravity," "Vertigo," and "Brace For It" chronologically.

It was Tim that got the call. Barb knew he was out of town for the next week with the Titans but she also knew he would want to know.

The man casually answered the phone with a smile. “O. Whatcha need?”

“Red Hood hasn’t been seen on the streets in days.” She cut right to the point.

Suddenly all business, “What do you mean? What do you know?”

“Not much.” The woman admitted. “Everything’s still running smooth. No one’s crowing that they clipped her wings or anything. What I have is a lack of contact and what _ was _ a steady stream of take-out orders to her main safe house that died down to nothing two days ago.”

“She’s sick?”

“That’s my best guess. And you know how she is about asking for help.” 

Tim snorted in response before returning to the subject, “She’s not eating.”

“That… was my conclusion, yes.” Barbara stated.

“I’ll call Steph. I think she’s in town.”

“She’s in New York with her mom, actually.”

Tim swore. “Cass?”

“Back in Hong Kong. You got the brat.”

“He’s not going to listen to me.” Tim hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t wanna call Cass but if I have to I will. Maybe Damian will listen to Steph, he’s got a soft spot for her.”

“You can try. Either way, I’d get someone over there tonight.”

“Thanks, O.”

“You bet, Red.”

Tim called Steph right away. She was equally concerned but couldn’t get back to Gotham until the following day. “I’ll give Cass a call, though. You know Demon Brat’s not going to listen to me.”

“He secretly likes you.” Tim assured her.

She snorted and drawled, “Super deep down I’m sure. I’ll call Cass and have her talk to him. He does better when an alpha asks anyway.”

Tim muttered, “Stupid league bullshit.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes. As brilliant as he was, sometimes Tim just could not see the misogyny right under his own nose. Like the way Bruce treated both her and Jay. Even devaluing Tim’s own contributions because he was a beta and not an alpha. She hated to tell him but Damian didn’t learn that in the league. At least not all of it.

“Yeah. Anyway, I’ll let you know.”

Cass, of course, was worried. “What do you mean not eating?”

“According to Tim Oracle says Jay was having food delivered on the reg but it stopped a couple of days ago. Best guesses are that she’s stopped eating.” Stephanie paused. “O and Tim think she’s sick.”

“Touch-starved?”

Steph shifted, uncomfortable. “That’s my bet. When was the last time you saw her so much as hold hands with anyone?”

“Never.” Cassandra stated, wearily.

“Exactly.” A pause. “I can’t leave mom. She’s finally going to rehab.” 

“I know.” The alpha soothed. “It’s okay. We’ll sort it. If we absolutely have to, we’ll call Alfred.”

“She’d never forgive us.” Everyone knew that Jay would do anything to keep Alfred out of the infighting.

“But she’d live.” Cass paused. “Sending the pup is a good option. Non-threatening.”

“He’s made his dislike of her clear.”

“Has he? Or has he just echoed his father and avoided a topic that obviously causes him distress?”

“Stop.” Steph whined. “I give, All-Seeing One.” She couldn’t see it but Cassandra smiled gently.

“I will contact Damian. I will call if there are issues.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Cass’ phone call to Damian was much shorter. As soon as the boy answered, Cassandra curtly ordered. “You will check on Hood.”

“What?!” The boy squawked. “Why would I check on that...” He trailed off, struggling to find a definitive insult.

“Take food. Soup would be best. I will send you the address. Do it soon, pup. Within the hour.” She infused the order with a hint of alpha demand, just to give him a push but she knew he would go anyway. Despite what the others saw, she knew that he actually liked the family pariah. He was always a hair's breadth away from reaching out to her. 

But Bruce’s disapproval was always hanging over his head.

__________

Damian glared at the door to Todd’s apartment, a plastic bag from the Vietnamese restaurant down the street hanging from his hand. He didn’t understand why they sent him to “check on” Todd. She was fine. She was always fine. 

She was loud, reckless, and aggressive. She was too much of a fighter. Nothing ever knocked her down.

He rapped on the door. 

No answer.

Another knock. 

Nothing.

Sighing in frustration, Damian set the bag down and picked the lock, careful to deactivate the traps that the omega had set for such an occasion. The moment the boy got the door open he was hit with the scent of unhealthy omega. He staggered. _ What_? ** _No_**.

He dug his nails into his palm and forced calm into his actions, thankful for once for the training of Master Irik. Carefully, he stepped inside Jay’s apartment, _ her den_, reset the locks and traps, and placed the pho on the counter next to the door. Then, nostrils flared, he followed the scent to Jay.

As he approached the bedroom, he was able to pick up more signals in her scent. For his immature receptors to be able to detect more than the baseline tells was concerning. Agitation grew at his lack of understanding. Buried instincts were telling him that the scents meant bad things for the omega but he didn’t know enough to identify the emotions they were attached to. Except the loneliness. He’d smelt that on his own scent enough times to recognize it.

“Todd?” Damian called, unable to mask the whine in his voice as he opened the door to her nest. The scent was even stronger here. He cautiously stepped into the room, taking in the discarded takeout containers and piles of cast-off clothing littering the floor around the mattress. Sneering at the mess automatically, he pushed his way through to the mound of blankets on the bed.

“Todd!” He barked again, eyeing the scarily still pile of fabric. There was no response. He stepped closer and whined, pitched to draw the attention of caregivers. There was a twitch from the pile but no further movement. This was _ bad_. For an omega to ignore the call of a pup in need...

He carefully lowered himself onto the mattress and began to tug at the blankets, keeping a low steady whine in his throat, trying to draw her out. His own distress amplified when he finally got a look at her face. Even in the bad lighting of the room he could tell she was too pale, the circles under her eyes too dark. 

“Jay?” A disgruntled noise rumbled from her throat. Her nose wrinkled. He gently shook her. “Jay!” 

Finally, her eyes cracked open. Staring blearily at him she muttered, “Pup?” She shook her head and rolled over, “G’way.” 

He growled, “I don’t think so.” He tugged and pulled at the blankets she’d cocooned herself in until she started moving.

“What!” She struggled weakly. “Dam’n? What’re y’doin?”

“Get up.” He hissed at her, suddenly angry and he didn’t know why. She was the nearest target. “Look at this room! Look at yourself! What are you doing?” He growled again. 

Teal eyes sharpened just a bit and her brows pinched in annoyance, “What d’ya want, Damian?” Her voice was a little stronger but still a pale shadow of her normal tones. “Why are you here?”

“You don’t get answers until you roll yourself out of this mess!” Green eyes were narrowed in agitation. “You’re _better _than this, Jay Petra Todd!”

“Piss off, brat.” She groaned. “Go home.”

He drew back, insulted. He would _never _leave an omega, _ a family member, _in this state. Instinct and deeply buried affection was urging him to fix this. To take care of her. He narrowed his eyes again and tugged hard on the covers, making her yelp as she was nearly tumbled out of the bed, and berated her in Shadows dialect. Something about the tone or maybe the words stirred her.

“Language, pup.” She scolded faintly as she slowly sat up.

He glared heatedly at her and continued his diatribe about the state of the room, the state of the apartment, the state of her hair and so on. Tuning him out, she rubbed her face with a hand, grimacing at the slick oily feeling of her skin. She blinked hazily and looked around her room.

“Oh.” She breathed. “This is a bad one.”

“You have had similar episodes?” Damian asked sharply.

“Nothing for you to worry about.” She stated slowly, thinly, and turned still-glassy eyes on him. “Time for you to go home.”

“I’m not leaving until you’ve showered and eaten the soup I brought you.” He stated stiffly. 

“I’m not hungry.” Her voice was faint as she continued to gaze over the room.

“I don’t care.” He bit out harshly. “Shower first.” His nose wrinkled in distaste. “You smell.” He took a closer look at her and left the room for the kitchen, hunting through the cabinets for a cup. He came back with a tall glass of water. He felt the first real shiver of fear when he realized that she still hadn’t moved in the few minutes he’d been gone. The anger faded as a new emotion took hold.

He didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen anyone in a state like this. He didn’t know how to care for someone! He wanted to call Dick. Yet, Dick had made his opinion of the omega clear. He felt like he was standing on sand that was slipping away.

“Jay.” He called. She blinked quickly a few times and turned her head to look at him.

“Damian? Why are you here?” She asked slowly, softly, brow furrowed. Like she didn’t remember the conversation they had just had. His stomach knotted tightly. 

“Drink.” He pushed the water into her hands. They grasped it clumsily; her teal eyes staring at him in simple confusion; her mind not really present. Not here. He was suddenly transported back to seven years old. To the island compound and his mother’s newest pet. An omega girl that didn’t talk but could fight like a whirlwind. 

That simple, calm stare that had followed him around to his lessons for six months before disappearing suddenly under his grandfather's rage. The warm scent and arms that comforted him after a nightmare. 

It had changed over the years: become more complex with the return of her memories and mind, he quickly deduced. Underneath, the black tea and orange spice, though, was still the sweet smell of bergamot.

“_Oh_.” He whispered, “_It’s you._” Damian suddenly felt like he was on slightly sturdier ground. This he knew. As a boy, he had watched when the servants prompted her to care for herself. He remembered. She still stared at him, still not quite aware. Loathing for that glazed look in her eyes filled him immediately. He took a deep breath and steeled his resolve. 

“Jay.” His voice rolled, mimicking the undertone the nurses used. “Drink.” He gently pushed her hands up towards her mouth, cup still grasped between them. She drank. Slowly at first, then greedily as her thirst hit her. Good. He could work with that. He took the glass from her and padded back to the kitchen for more. She drank that, too, slower.

He pulled the blankets from the bed and grabbed her hands. “Jay, get up.” Obediently, she rose as he tugged her to her feet. He carefully lead her down the hall and to the bathroom. Combined with a soft command to get undressed, he tugged on her clothing before turning to prep the shower. Thankfully both of them had lost any sense of body shy long ago; between the Shadows and vigilante work it was hard to stay ignorant or sensitive to basic anatomy.

He watched her just enough to make sure she was actually washing. Muscle memory seemed to be working in his favor. He moved back into her bedroom, making sure to keep an ear out. He tidied quickly: opening the windows to air out, throwing out the trash, and piling the clothing in an overflowing hamper. 

He stared at her bed for a moment, not really sure how to do what needed to be done. He’d never made a bed. In the end, he stripped all the linens and blankets and laid another comforter over the top of the bare mattress, tucking the corners into the floor as neatly as he could, and put new pillow cases back on. He threw another clean blanket over top and hoped it was good enough.

He dug through her dresser for soft, comfortable clothes and took them to the bathroom. Checking on her quickly, he set them on the vanity before slipping out again. He sat down on the floor next to the bathroom for a moment and let himself _feel _the fear... and anger.

God, _ what if he hadn’t checked on her? _ What if Cassandra had never called? She could have just laid in that bed and… and let herself waste away. She could have died in that bed and they wouldn’t have known for days or weeks! God knows his father wouldn’t have checked on her.

Why? Why had she let herself get like that? He was so _furious_ at her for allowing herself to get into that state in the first place. What had happened? He didn’t understand! Did she slip back into her fugue state from before? He angrily brushed a tear from his cheek and huffed. What was wrong with her? He didn’t know what to do.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Who could he even call? Not Dick. Not his father. His thumb hovered over the contact for Alfred Pennyworth but then he dismissed the idea. Perhaps…

Stephanie’s phone rang.

He ended the call before it rang again and huffed in agitation. He pulled up the browser on his phone instead and did a quick google search. He stumbled, unsure what he should even be searching. When he finally hit the right terms, though, it was _illuminating_. 

He knew, of course, that omegas, and pups to a lesser extent, needed skin to skin contact to regulate moods and to help with pack bonding but he didn’t know the lack of it could be so serious. He didn’t know they could literally be touch-starved. It wasn’t something that most people had to worry about. 

He was… appalled. 

Intellectually, he knew that it was a problem for omegas to be without the support structure of a pack. _Protection _was the primary concern. A stray could be forcibly claimed because there was no one to champion them. No one to search for them when they went missing. Many of the trafficking victims they’d saved over the years had been stray omegas, though there had been plenty of betas and the odd alpha, too.

The idea that packs sustained omegas in other ways was a realization for him. They were necessary for their mental health. This… His father’s behavior was _abhorrent _in light of this information. He’d noticed, of course, that the alpha had yet to scent Jay since she had returned to the fold. He knew that Drake and Brown, perhaps even Cassandra, believed that it was merely an oversight. Damian knew that it was intentional. He knew that his father was, in his way, showing his displeasure with the omega. Damian had thought it was a mild punishment, since she could take care of herself easily, she didn’t need the protection aspect frequently.

He was apparently mistaken. 

Jay’s present state was a testament to his father’s cruelty.

Without being an official member of the pack, she couldn't get the physical contact she needed from them unless it was offered freely and, subconsciously or not, his father had made it clear that he didn’t approve of any non-mission critical contact with the woman. She couldn’t so much as ask for a hand-holding. She _wouldn’t ask_. She was so averse to asking for help it was almost like it had been beaten out of her. He winced at the thought when he realized it might actually have been.

He wondered if Jay’s extreme reaction to touch-starvation was due to the Pit, her trauma and background, or something uniquely genetic. Perhaps she has just never really met the thresholds she needed to maintain her health fully in the first place. 

This… This couldn’t happen again.

He heard the shower turn off and rose, smoothly moving to the kitchen to reheat the pho he had brought. He carefully wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

__________

Jay came aware to water pouring over her head. She blinked rapidly and ducked her face in the lukewarm stream, bringing her to fully back to herself. Though she could smell the harsh scent of her dollar store shampoo on the air, she resolved to wash again. 

Something told her she’d had a worse episode than normal and she needed, desperately, to be clean. She twisted the knob for the hot water, bringing the temperature up, and scrubbed herself, leaning heavily against the wall of the shower for strength towards the end. 

The water had long gone cold by the time she got out. Wrapping her squeaky clean tresses in a towel, she dried herself slowly, brushed her teeth, and dressed in the gloriously comfy clothing that had been sitting on the vanity. She frowned as she caught a lingering scent on the cloth of the tank top, too faint to discern. _ Shit_. Someone else was here.

Well, she thought wearily, they had plenty of time an opportunity to kill her while she was out of it. That must mean family. She winced. She had never wanted anyone to see her like that. Least of all any of the Wayne Pack… 

She could handle this not-pack thing. She _could_. She had to prove to Bruce that she deserved to be brought back in.

Even if it killed her.

She sat on the lid of her toilet while she finger-combed some argan oil through her curls and breathed. Once finished, Jay prepared to face her shame. Opening the door, the savory smell of chicken pho hit her nose. Almost immediately her stomach made its recent neglect known with a sick twist of hunger.

She padded to the kitchen and froze. Her heart dropped. _No. _**_No._** Not the kid. Not the pup.

“Dami.” She breathed, voice hitching.

He looked up sharply, eyes intent as he examined her. Hesitantly, like he was afraid she wasn't there, he asked, “Jay? Can you eat?”

Her heart broke. “Yeah, Damian.” She answered, throat working around the knot in it. “I can eat.” The tension in his shoulders loosened a bit at her answer. Edging closer to him, supporting herself with one hand on the breakfast bar, she hesitantly reached out and brushed her fingers through his hair. Surprisingly, he pushed back into her hand. 

Leaning down to his level, she met his eyes. Slowly, sincerely, she told him, “I am so very sorry for whatever you saw when you walked through that door, Damian. You should _never _have been here for that.”

He stared at her and she wished she could read his mind. She couldn't know how pale her skin was; how weak and sick she looked. How the way she trembled ever so slightly with those vacant eyes haunted him. “I am glad that one of us was able to come.” He said simply. “Sit down, sister. Before you fall down.” He ordered, motioning to her table. 

She sat. Then wondered why she did so… but he was right, she wasn’t in the best shape. He set a small bowl of pho in front of her and one for himself. She sipped the broth slowly, not inexperienced with reintroducing her body to food. 

When she had managed to get down three-quarters of her bowl, she asked softly, “Why are you here, Damian?” He looked at her searchingly. Guilt wrenched at her again. “I’m present, Damian. I promise.”

He nodded once, sharply, and answered her question, “Cassandra called me and told me to check on you. She told me to bring food and suggested soup.” His eyes flicked to her bedroom door then back to her face, “I was given no more information. Though, I believe if anyone else was in town, they would have been contacted first.”

“I’m sorry.” She stated, voice low and full of shame.

“Cease this.” He demanded. “You have done nothing.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, kid.” A sigh fell from her lips, no energy to fight. He huffed.

__________

Somehow he had bullied her back into the bedroom and curled up next to her like the start of a regular puppy pile. Jay tucked the pup up under her chin and ran her hand up and down his back. Tension leached out of both of them as they reveled in the contact. Damian missed this. 

His mother had made sure he got adequate physical affection when he was with her. Evenings spent curled together in front of the fire, her soft voice reading to him. Patient hands correcting blade technique. A ruffle of his hair in affection. Shoulder squeezed in approval when he did well.

He hadn't realized how little he was being touched since moving in with his father. Most of it was him, he admitted to himself. He didn’t feel comfortable around the others: wasn’t sure of his relationships with them yet. Dick was overwhelming. Always in his space, always a hand on his skin. It was too much sometimes… all the time. So he stayed out of his range if he could.

Father almost never touched him. 

The others seemed to be at least respecting his boundaries. A few times he had seen Brown or Cassandra reach out and stop themselves before making contact. Most likely believing the actions as being unwelcome. Until recently, he acknowledged, they would have been. 

This, though, merely lying with someone, being in each other’s space, he had never had… except for those six months so very long ago. He whined softly, before he could stop himself.

“Dami?” Hands stilled on his back.

“Do you remember…” He started quietly, “anything from before you got your mind back?” The chest underneath him rose as she took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

“I remember waking up in my coffin.” She said quietly. “I remember clawing my way out of my grave.” A pause for thought. “I get flashes of a little you, I think.” She admitted. “Training in the courtyard with Talia watching. Did you ever crawl into my bed at night?” 

He nodded, “I didn’t realize until today. That it was you. I used to come to you when I had nightmares because Mother would just tell me I must-”

“-learn to handle the darkness on your own.” Jay finished for him and grimaced. “You were like six for fuck's sake. Sometimes, kid, your _mom_.”

“I know.” He said, “But she is my mother.” He was quiet for a moment. “Sister, what happened when you disappeared?”

Jay sighed deeply and gathered her thoughts, trying to decide how to best explain without revealing too much. She started simply. “Talia dipped me in the Pit.”

Damian sat bolt upright, “She did what?!”

“Shhh, it’s okay, Damian.” Jay pulled him down again, gently. “It’s fine.”

“How long did you feel the Pit’s effects?” He asked, dreading the answer.

“I still feel them.” Spoken like an admission. “When I’m angry, it’s very hard not to give in and just ride the waves of the Madness.” She ran her fingers through his hair comfortingly. “But I’ve put a lot of effort into managing it.”

“What changed?” He asked, hesitantly.

“I don’t really know.” Her forehead wrinkled. “I could just suddenly think a little clearer. I stopped blacking out. I realized what I was doing and was able to pull back from the edge a bit.” She thought for a moment. “Anyway, after the Pit, your mom sent me off on a training adventure. I did a lot of traveling, trained with a lot of people. Ended up in the Shadows itself for a few months running missions.”

“What band did you join?” The boy asked. Bands were the League’s answer to packs. With no actual pack structure and dynamics allowed, assassins and operatives were assigned to named bands with a semi-pack like allotment of presentations to keep the peace and health of their members. Every Shadow used the League masking perfume instead of scenting each other to preserve anonymity and uniformity. Omega piles were common sights after training hours and missions.

“I didn’t have one.” Came Jay’s casual answer.

“Oh, Mother made you a part of our pack?” Damian perked up. Bands were mandatory for Shadows. Only the Al Ghuls were part of a pack. 

“No, Dami. I was never part of the Al Ghul pack.”

“Surly, Mother didn’t leave you stray!” The boy was appalled.

“I got the scent like everyone else. You remember. You smelled it on me.” She reminded him. 

“That’s not… but you… Omegas need…” He trailed off, frustrated.

“I’ve never been a very good omega.” Jay stated plainly. “No one wanted me. I was too aggressive. Too dominant. With your mother’s favor and your grandfather’s disfavor, I was a risk no one was willing to take. Besides, I don’t think your mom wanted me with the others. It wasn’t long before I came back to Gotham.”

“No one’s taken care of you in far too long.” The pup grumbled, burying his face in her shirt and breathing in her comforting scent.

“I don’t need to be taken care of.” She snapped instinctually then flinched at her own response. “I don’t. I was on the streets at nine, Damian. I took care of myself until Bruce picked me up when I was eleven. Even at the manor, I did everything I could for myself, much to Alfred’s annoyance.” She admitted. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He growled his puppy growl at her. Admittedly, it was better than anything his peers could probably manage. “You shut down. You shut down because you haven’t been getting what you need. You weren’t - _ aren’t _ \- taking care of yourself.”

“I’m doing the best I can, Damian!” Jay defended herself. “I can only work with what I have. I’m all by myself.” She winced at the trap she’d walked into.

“That’s Father’s fault. Our fault. You are family! You should not have - He’s wrong! He’s punishing you and it’s wrong!” The boy was distraught, struggling against his own frustrated fury.

“Oh, pup…” Jay sighed, brow furrowed with her own conflicted emotions, “He has a right to keep his distance… to punish me after what I did.”

“He doesn’t know about the Pit! He doesn’t understand!”

“He hasn’t asked” She stated calmly. “He hasn’t even talked to me… but he will,” she assured the boy, “when he stops being so angry.” She could smell the fury in his scent every time he was around her without blockers. The sharp ozone; air after a lightning strike. “Regardless, it doesn’t excuse what I did, pup. I attacked Tim, nearly killed him.”

“He took your position in the pack.” Damian stated. “Given your mental state, I’m surprised you _didn’t _kill him. Instincts can be powerful. Instincts under Lazarus influence even more so. We both know you would have if you had really wanted to.”

“I nearly killed you.” She reminded him, cautiously. Some part of her believed that particular incident snapped her out of the worst of the Madness. Harming a pup was unconscionable and she would never forgive herself for drawing Tim and Damian’s blood.

“I was a threat.” He reasoned. He had been. At the time he had been planning on taking out at least two members of the Bat Pack. Tilting his head in curiosity, he asked. “Does Father even realize that many of the enemies you were drawing were direct threats to our pack?”

“You’d have to ask him that.” She stated wearily. She had been such a mess and contradiction of instincts at the time, she wasn’t entirely certain it had been out of protection rather than rivalry. Half of her _raging _against her place being filled, taken by a new pack member, eager to do battle to get her place back; prove her worth to the Alpha. The other half calling for vengeance and blood against being so casually abandoned, set on carving a piece of her own territory out of Bruce’s and killing her murderer.

It had not been a good time. Her behavior had been erratic and uncontrollable. She’d blacked out several times. Eventually, She’d been able to piece together what she’d done during some of those occasions... Like nearly beating the life out of Tim. Other times still remain a mystery. She hoped it didn’t come back to bite her in the ass even more.

Sorting out and supressing those instincts had been a fucking _nightmare_.

“This is ridiculous!” Damian sniffed. “I will scent you. Father will see reason and accept my decision. I am the blood son. You are my sister. You are pack.”

“Damian, it’s Bruce’s decision.” Jay gently squeezed the back of his neck. “He could very easily ignore it and then he’s angry with you, too. He’ll come around.” She knew he would… eventually.

“I will speak with him!” The boy vowed.

“Stay out of it.” She warned. “It will only lead to issues between you and your dad. He doesn’t like being questioned.” She had no idea why she tried. Every Robin questions Batman. Every Robin disobeys and tests their wings on their own. It was a little soon for Damian, though.

“He’s supposed to be better!” Damian whispered fiercely, burying his face in her neck again. “He’s supposed to be better than Mother and Grandfather.”

“Oh, Dami, _he is_.” She assured him. “Bruce doing something you disagree with or making a handful of mistakes does not mean that he’s a bad person. It just means he’s human like the rest of us.” She cuddled him closer. “You can’t control someone else’s behavior. You _can _control your own. If you don’t like something Bruce does, do better in your life.”

He was quiet, in thought. “I will take care of you!” He eventually declared. 

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “That’s not quite what I meant.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Garpie64 for beta reading and helping me with writing issues!
> 
> Title from "Pretty Little Birds" from SZA.
> 
> This begins a three-part series based on this excerpt from Vertigo: 
> 
> “Where were you when I was trapped in my safe house without scent dampeners and couldn’t leave because I smelled so strong of stray and heat that if I left I would have been in some gangster’s harem before you could say my name?” She demanded. “Where were you when I was so touch starved I could barely move? Or when I was sick from overdosing on suppressants because I couldn’t stand the thought of another heat with no one there?” 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: primeemeraldheiress  
Find Garpie on tumblr: garpie64


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